


After the Battle

by Rising_Phoenix



Category: Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Declarations Of Love, M/M, Mourning, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23836915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/pseuds/Rising_Phoenix
Summary: Galahad is informed that Tristan has fallen in battle.
Relationships: Galahad/Tristan (King Arthur 2004)
Comments: 43
Kudos: 104





	After the Battle

**Author's Note:**

> The surviving knights have returned to the fortress after the battle, Galahad does not yet know of the fate of his brothers in this.

“Where is he?” Galahad asked, the face covered in dirt and the blood of the defeated enemies. Exhausted but still smiling at the thought that they had left the battlefield as victors. He had a bounce in his step that betrayed how tired he was, part of his armor already taken off, and his horse taken care of with water and an extra ration of carrots and hay.

Gawain and Bors, sitting on two barrels at the side of the stable, both weary and tired looking looked up to their younger brother.

“Gal…,” Gawain said, the first to speak, the eyes filled with sadness, while Bors stood up and made a step towards Galahad, who himself made a step back.

His heartbeat had stopped.

With wide eyes, he was staring at the two other men, shaking slowly his head.

“No,” he then said, a smile appearing on his face. “You lie. He is not. He can’t be.”

Not when he had promised that they would talk when this was over.

Not when he had smiled at him, one of those rare and beautiful smiles, and given him a nod before they had moved into battle.

Not him.

No.

“That is a cruel joke,” he laughed, pointing a hand towards Gawain, who now stood up as well, both hands raised and walked towards the pup.

Tears started to burn behind Galahad’s eyes, angry, desperate, his mind not wanting to believe what those looks in both his brother’s eyes meant.

Still shaking his head, he sank to his knees, his whole body shaking, trembling, his legs no longer able to carry him. His hands grabbed the dirty soil, fingernails digging into stones and sand.

“It is not true,” he whispered, shoulders shaking. When he looked up, Gawain saw the pretty face of the youngest knight covered in tears, bright blue eyes pleading, begging when he looked right into his. “Gawain. Please. It’s not true.”

Gawain went to his knees as well, pulling Galahad close into a tight embrace, not caring that this might look like weakness to any of the Romans when Galahad started to sob uncontrollably, grabbing a handful of his long hair and hiding his head against his shoulder.

“Shhhh, little brother,” he whispered. “He died honorable.”

Galahad sobbed again.

“He was not supposed to die. He said we’d talk. He said we’d talk,” Galahad cried, and continued to cry for endless minutes before he moved away from Gawain, sniffing and drying his face with his hands, smearing more dirt over his cheeks.

“Where is he?” He asked.

Bors stepped closer.

“The women are getting the dead in,” he said, voice stern and trying to not show the emotion that was sending his thoughts into a turmoil.

Galahad’s eyes widened.

“He is…still out there?” He asked. “He is our brother!”

He got up to his feet and went back into the stable, pulling his horse out of his stall and getting his bridle from its hook.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” Galahad whispered to his horse. “One more ride today and then you can finally rest.”

He kissed the horse’s neck and swung himself onto it’s back, but just went he made a sound to make him jump into a gallop, Gawain stepped in his way.

“Move aside,” he snarled.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Gawain said.

“I’m getting Tristan,” he only said. “He is…he should not be out there alone. He is our brother.”

Gawain nodded.

“It’s fucking dark!” Bors said behind him. “He can still be brought in tomorrow. You’ll only break your pretty neck out there.”

The glare that Galahad sent him said more than words.

“Ah fuck,” Bors meant and went the same time forward as Gawain and for a moment, Galahad thought they would drag him down his horse and force him to not go out there in the night. But instead, they both went to get their horses as well.

“What are you doing?” He asked in surprise.

“Looks like we won’t let you break your neck alone,” Bors huffed, getting onto his horse and letting it run into a gallop before Galahad had even the chance to react.

Gawain stopped at his side.

“We’re getting him together,” he said, a hand moving to touch Galahad’s arm. “We’re bringing him home for you.”

Galahad watched his two brothers ride out of the stable.

“He will never get home,” he whispered and then followed them.

It was a night of a full moon and without any clouds, so different from the nights before and as if the clouds of desperation and war had moved and were hiding now. Bors made jokes that at least in the moonlight the chance would be there that they would not break their necks, after all, a joke that Galahad did not react to. He felt how Gawain was giving him worried looks and he wondered if he knew more, that he had knowledge of the secret that he and Tristan had shared. There had been days when he had hidden what he felt, when he had felt ashamed, but he was not able to waste a single thought on that. Not when Tristan was…when he was gone.

Every few minutes, new tears started to fill his eyes, every time when he remembered something about the older knight, who had been his closest friend and who may have been something more after they had talked. Now, they would not get the chance to do so. He would never get the chance to kiss Tristan, to tell him what he felt, to see him smile and make sarcastic jokes with the few words he sometimes used, more of an observer and sometimes with a curious and knowing smile.

Now, all the hope was shattered.

They were getting closer to the battlefield, enlightened by torches for those who were collecting the bodies, bringing them to the fortress for burials, while others were rummaging and plundering the dead, something that Galahad did understand and still always hated.

They got off their horses and started to walk through the lines of dead, looking for something they recognized, for someone. Galahad’s lips were pressed together, recognizing some of the faces, others of men he had never seen before.

It was almost an hour later than Galahad was close to giving up. Maybe they had already brought Tristan back to the fortress, in one of the carriages onto which the bodies were thrown like dead cattle. He still had not seen any trace of the dead knight he wanted to find, wanted to bring home, and give a burial that he deserved. At least he would then have a place to go and talk to him, even if it would be just a hole in the ground.

“It’s useless,” Gawain said turning to him. “We can come back when the sun comes out, Gal.”

“I’m not leaving him here to be plundered,” Galahad hissed, getting ready to fight Gawain if he had to, verbal or physical, but then a screeching sound pulled them both from their thoughts.

Both looked up into the night sky.

“Iseult,” Galahad whispered. “That is…”

He narrowed his eyes and recognized the circling bird in the night sky.

“Impossible,” Gawain said.

“That’s Iseult,” Galahad said again and then he started to run, stumbling and falling to the ground, getting back up, his eyes fixed on the bird who was screeching again as if she was telling him where to go. He thought of the bird who had always been with Tristan, who had trained her, and if she would accept him, he would be the one to give her a home from now on.

Suddenly, Iseult shot downwards to the ground and landed gracefully on a body that was laying in the dirt.

Galahad stopped in his tracks, staring at the body of the man he had longed to find.

“Tris…,” he whispered and ran again, falling to his knees next to his body.

It was true.

Gawain had not lied, he had told the truth.

Tristan, beautiful, honorable, dangerous and brooding Tristan with the amber eyes and the appetite for apples and a deep love for the falcon he had trained, was dead.

Tears streamed out of his eyes, feeling how Bors and Gawain were getting closer but gave him space to say his goodbyes, understanding he needed this to find his own peace, even if peace was no longer an option in his heart.

He crawled closer to Tristan, pulling the head of the dead man into his lap.

“Hey,” he whispered. “There you are.”

Tristan’s face was covered in blood, and still, the warrior’s features looked calm and peaceful. Maybe finally, he had found his peace in death. But this was wrong. This was all wrong.

“You promised,” he said. “You promised that we’d talk, Tristan. What am I going to do now, without you? How am I going to live?” He stroked the dirty strands of Tristan’s hair. “We won, you know? We defeated the Saxons. Our duty is over and we could go home now as Arthur promised. And if you don’t want to go home, we could get a house somewhere here. We could breed horses and train the new knights, we could…” His voice broke. “I only went into this battle because you said we would talk, and I never got the chance to tell you.” He looked over his shoulder, openly crying now, and saw his brothers standing a little away, giving him the privacy that he needed, and he knew that they knew. That they did not care.

He sniffed tears away and smiled at the man in his lap.

“I saved myself for the one I love,” he whispered. “You all made fun of me for doing so, but it is my choice and I…now there will be never anyone for me. It was always you who I was waiting for. My Tristan. My heart.” He sobbed and bowed down, not caring if Bors and Gawain were looking at him, at them, when he pressed his trembling lips to Tristan’s.

He had imagined their first kiss different, in all those dreams that he had never talked about. One day, so he had thought, when they were old, wrinkly and silver-haired, they would lay in their bed and talk about those innocent and scared dreams of the welp that he had been. Scared of forbidden feelings, scared of rejection. But now, he did not care.

“I love you,” he whispered and kissed Tristan again, licking over the seam of his lips with the tip of his tongue, those soft and warm lips. “I will always love you.”

Warm.

He frowned.

And then he held his breath, his lips hovering on Tristan’s, not moving, not daring to make a sound.

He waited. Waited for something to happen and then there was something on his face. Something like a huff of wind.

He looked up, looked at the clouds that suddenly had appeared again, at the torches that did not move.

There was no wind.

He looked back down at Tristan, moved his face again close to his, and waited again.

And again that hint of wind hit his lips.

But it was no wind.

It was breath.

Breath.

There was breath.

His eyes widened.

“He…,” he said, hearing how one of the others came closer.

“Gal,” Gawain said. “We should…”

“He’s alive,” he whispered, turning his head and staring up into Gawain’s eyes.

“That is not possible,” the other knight said, looking still tired and sad. “It’s your sorrow playing a trick on you.”

“He is alive!” Galahad yelled at him.


End file.
